


#1 Dad

by SeahorseTrash



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Father's Day, POV Second Person, Sadstuck
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-19
Updated: 2016-06-19
Packaged: 2018-07-16 05:26:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7254226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeahorseTrash/pseuds/SeahorseTrash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A young man stands in his father’s study, a shattered mug at his feet. It just so happens that today, June 19, is FATHER’S DAY.</p>
<p>Poor kid never saw it coming.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

A young man stands in his father’s study, a shattered mug at his feet. It just so happens that today, June 19, is FATHER’S DAY.

Poor kid never saw it coming.

** >>Be the angsty teenager. **

You are now the ANGSTY TEENAGER, and wow you REALLY don’t want to be here right now. This narrator doesn’t understand you at all; SOCIETY doesn’t understand you.

Your name is JOHN EGBERT, and you just MISSED YOUR BUS. It sucks because you're well into HIGH SCHOOL, but you DON’T EVEN HAVE A PERMIT. You guess that’s what you get for PLAYING VIDEO GAMES and WATCHING TERRIBLE MOVIES all those years instead of attending those driver’s ed classes your dad signed you up for.

Speaking of your dad, he would usually offer to drive you home if you missed the bus, but he didn’t answer your calls. He probably still doesn’t know how to use his new phone. Blackberrys are pretty advanced. Not everyone can master that brick-smashing game. It takes a special breed of humans. You guess your dad wasn’t so fortunate to receive that gene.

** >>John: stop rubbing your brick-smashing skills in the reader’s face **

You suppose he’s probably just working late. You're not really sure what your dad does, but it probably has something to do with those WRETCHED HARLEQUINS scattered about your home. Those things SERIOUSLY FREAK YOU OUT.

It’s probably best you don’t bash his interests, strange as they may be. He is your DAD afterall.

You try his phone again, but is goes to voicemail. Well, you guess you’ll just have to walk from here. Maybe you’ll stop by a convenience store and pick up some WRIGLEY’S DOUBLE MINT. Perhaps Blockbusters is open as well. You can swing by and pick up that new movie in which, haunted by EERIE IMAGES and UNEXPLAINABLE MESSAGES, a man tries to unravel the mystery behind the disappearance of his son. You heard it got a REALLY BAD RATING, but it has NICHOLAS CAGE in it, so you’ll watch it anyway.

On your long trek home, you come across a sign decorated with bright blue balloons.

**> >John: don’t just stand there, READ THE SIGN**

“DON’T FORGET TO PICK UP A CARD THIS FATHER’S DAY!”

You TOTALLY FORGOT! You guess you should buy something for your dad while you're out.

**> >John: get him a new hat**

Nah, he already has too many hats.

** >>How about one of those corny “#1 DAD” mugs? **

That’s a GREAT IDEA! Hmm...now you just need to pick a color.

BLUE or RED?

**> >Blue, duh!**  
  
You get the blue one. As well as it being your FAVORITE COLOR, you think this will be a nice addition to your otherwise bland cupboard. Your dad doesn’t drink that much coffee, but next time he brews up a pot, you’ll likely see a bright blue mug in one hand, a pipe in the other.

You ring it up alongside a pack of CHEWING GUM. The cashier gives you a weird smile and asks if the mug is for your father. You nod apprehensively, and let him keep the change. That was awkward...

You pop a piece of the gum in your mouth. It’s cool and minty, fresh, a sharp contrast from your sluggish stride on the pavement.

You continue on your walk of shame, a little less shameful now that you have done something useful with your time out. Maybe you can find something to wrap this gift with before your dad comes home. He’ll appreciate the extra work.

It’s a nice day outside, as usual. It’s a little chilly for your usual attire, and you wish you had brought a light jacket, but the sun is warm and bright, balancing out the bitter air. It’s the perfect weather for a brisk walk. You guess missing your bus was just an opportunity to get some fresh air.

You should probably enjoy it while you can. With summer creeping over the horizon, you see yourself cooped up in your room playing videogames and watching movies, your dad trying to convince you to do something productive, like mowing the lawn or doing laundry. You tell him that’s his job, and he shakes his head as he closes your door again, likely to repeat the process again the next day.

You’re almost home. You check your phone for a call back from your dad, but there’s no sign of him. You think about phoning him so he knows you’re on your way, but you think the messages will be enough to assure him that everything is alright and you didn’t get mugged on the way to the bus stop.

You try to avoid getting into silly arguments with him, since he’s taken care of you for as long as you can remember. There were no nannies or babysitters in the Egbert household. Your dad does all the cooking, cleaning, and of course, MOTIVATING around the house. He always leaves you cheesy letters telling you how proud of you he is. You think they’re kinda dumb, since you literally find them everywhere, but you guess it’s the thought that counts.

Finally, you arrive at your destination. You see your CHARMING SUBURBAN HOME, and the lovely maple with the tire swing. You never use that thing anymore, probably because it’s BROKEN. It used to be a lot of fun, though.

** >>John: stop reminiscing about the good old days and get inside **

You see you dad’s car in the driveway. You thought he was at work, but maybe he came home early. It was kinda weird that he hadn't called you.

You walk up to the front door and dig for your keys. They've got to be in here somewhere…

Oh, it looks like he door is already unlocked. That's a bit strange, but you don't think much of it. Your dad probably just left it unlocked for you since you ALWAYS LOSE YOUR KEYS.

“Dad, I’m home,” you call as you step through the doorway. The house is oddly quiet. “Hello?”

There is no answer. You're starting to wonder if this is another prank. Your dad is always playing silly jokes on you. It's become something like a silent war of water buckets on doors and spring-loaded cream pies.

You check the kitchen. The oven is preheated to 350. There's an empty mixing bowl and an array of ingredients on the counter, but no sign of your dad. He must've started baking a cake and changed his mind. You wonder where he could be. Maybe he went for a walk. No, your dad doesn't do stuff like that. He gets his exercise from running around the house doing chores.

Perhaps he got a call and had to retreat to his study. He’s always having emergencies at work. You remember one time when you went on vacation and he had to spend half the time on conference calls.

You start making your way to the study when you are met with a strange feeling, like your efforts are in vain. There isn't anywhere else your dad would be except his bedroom, but he would've heard you calling from there. You continue on anyway, listening to the tap of your footsteps on the hardwoods.

You don't need to enter the room to see that something is terribly wrong. The door is busted open, the foreboding sight of a bullet hole making your blood run cold.

You try to convince yourself this was just a burglary. It's not common for this area, but it's possible. The door was probably locked, so they battered it open. Maybe they thought they heard a noise, and shot at random to see if anyone was inside. Maybe they saw that your dad help nothing of value in that room, and simply walked away, leaving him unscathed.

** >>John: enter **

Your right foot lands in a pool of blood. Your heart drops in your chest as you look down to see your father in the corner, clutching his abdomen. The trail of crimson leads you his weak frame. He must hear your shuddering breaths as he lifts his head.

“Dad?” you manage to choke out, dropping everything to kneel at his side. The mug shatters behind you, but you don’t care.

“John, I...I’m sorry,” he says, his voice hoarse. “He finally found me. I'm just thankful he didn't get to you. I would never forgive myself.” His breath is slow and laboured.

“Dad, what are you talking about?” you ask, tears welling up in your eyes. “Who did this?”

“Jack Noir,” he says, coughing up a thin splatter of blood. “I don't have time to explain it all, but everything you need to know...” He reached into his pocket, pulling out an envelope. It was stained by his bloody fingers. “Everything you need to know is in here.”

You take the note. It feels heavy in your hands.

“Dad, you’re not dying,” you plead, squeezing his hand. His grip is weak, like the life is draining from his body with every drop of blood that hit the ground. “You can’t die!”

“I'm afraid I don't have much of a choice,” he sighs, offering a sad smile. He wipes a tear from your face. “Don’t worry, John. It's okay.”

“No, it's not okay!” you shout. “I don't want you to die!” You bury your head in his shoulder. You feel the warm blood soak your shirt as wraps his arms around you, patting you on the back.

You know that he doesn't have much longer. You want to say something, but you're still in shock. You wish there was something you could've done to prevent this.

If only you hadn't missed that stupid bus...

“Dad, I'm sorry,” you mumble. “This is all my fault.”

“No it isn't,” he assures you. “If you had been here, they would've killed you too. I'm just glad you made it home safe. I was beginning to worry.”

Your dad was dying, and he was worried about you.

The tears that you tried to hold back began streaming down your face. You can feel his heartbeat slowing to a desperate crawl.

“All these years, you've made me so proud,” he says, his hold of you slipping.”I couldn't imagine a life without my son.” His voice is dry and barely audible. “Even though we may bicker, I love you more than anything else in this world.

“I love you too, dad,” you manage through your sobs.

You feel his chest rise and fall one last time, and his life fades away. You know he’s gone, but you can't bring yourself to let go. You sit there for what feels like hours, numb.

The doorbell rings. You muster up the strength to stand, and make your way down the hall, putting the envelope in your pocket. You wipe the tears from your eyes and pull on a light jacket to cover the blood on your shirt.

Opening the door, you're met by a tall woman dressed in a fitted white dress and a thin pink scarf.

“Hello,” she greets you with a disarming smile, like a mother’s. “You're John, right? Is your father home?”

You're not sure how to say this. She must see the look on your face, because the corners of her mouth droop into a frown.

“I'm sorry,” she says, placing a hand on your shoulder. “I know it's hard. Could I see him?”

You lead her into the study. She walks over to your dad’s body, kneeling at his side. Bowing her head, she reaches into her purse for a tissue to wipe away a tear.

“It was Noir, wasn't it?” She sounds more angry than sad.

“How did you know?” you ask.

“James had suspicions that Jack was coming for him,” she explained, turning away from the scene. “He told me to call his personal phone everyday. If he didn't answer, something could be wrong and I needed to get over there as soon as possible. I called twice today, so I got worried.”

“How do you know my dad? Do you work with him?” You're sure you've never seen this woman before, yet she seems oddly familiar.

“I guess you could say that,” she says, eyes to the ground. “We’ve known each other for a very long time. I always feared something like this would happen, but I never would've guessed it would be so soon. I'm sure this was a terrible thing to come home to.”

You stay silent, averting your eyes. You don't want to see his lifeless body anymore. It's painful to look at, heartbreaking. You're afraid you'll start to cry again.

“I'm sorry, I never properly introduced myself,” she says, holding out her hand. Her nails are painted the same bubblegum pink as the scarf around her neck. “I'm Roxanne Lalonde. Your father and I made arrangements so that if either of us were to die, our children wouldn't be left without a home. I know this is all so sudden, but from now on, I’ll be your mother.”

“Wait, does that mean I won't live here anymore?”

“I'm afraid it's not safe for you here,” she sighs. “I know it probably feels like the end of the world, but I promise I'll do my best to make you feel at home, even if you're hundreds of miles away.”

You look at the walls around you, at your home. You see pictures of you and your dad hanging up on the walls. He looks so happy, so proud to be a father. This has been all you've known for as long as you can remember. You can't imagine leaving it all behind.

You can’t imagine living without your dad.

“You don't have to completely move out tonight,” Roxanne tells you. “Just change into clean clothes and grab what you need for a few days or so. We can stay in a hotel until the house is cleaned up.”

You oblige, sluggishly heading up the stairs to pack. You find more photos, and stop at each one to relive the memories. You remember your dad pushing you on the swing, letting you help stir when he bakes, teaching you to play the piano. It feels like just yesterday you were walking with him into school for the first time. You remember crying because you didn't want to be alone. He told you he’d be there waiting for you at the end of the day. You would remember running to hug him when he picked you up. He told you how proud he was that you made it through your first day without him.

Maybe this was what he was preparing you for, living life without him.

You take the pictures off the wall. You know you could always come back for them later, but there's something comforting about them. They can almost bring a smile to your face.


	2. In Memorial Of...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There may be some JohnDave undertones, but not enough to tag for

It's been almost a month. You now live with Roxanne and her daughter Rose and they've made you feel welcome. You still have the photos from the hallway by your bedside, and you look at them every night. Sometimes you want to cry, but something in you tells you that your dad wouldn't want you to be sad.

Ms. Lalonde was kind and patient, and answered any question you had about your dad. She had told you that he worked in a dangerous field that held controversial information about many secret organizations that hid behind famous brand names. He was always in danger, but he did everything he could to protect you.

Rose has always been supportive. She often comes in and stays with you when you can't sleep, and entertains you with outlandish stories of wizards and far away lands. She's introduced you to a few new people as well, and they've all been great company. You've only talked to them online, but they're always there whenever you need them. Jade, given your respective time zones, is the first person you go to at night because you know she’ll be there. Dave has proven to be quite the night owl, and somehow finds a way to make you laugh, no matter how many tears you shed just moments before. He’s the kind of guy that can almost make you forget what you're sad about in the first place.

Rose, Dave, Jade; they've become like a family to you. You don't know what you'd do without them.

Today is your father’s funeral, and they're all here to support you. It's the first time you've seen Dave and Jade in person. Although they are solemn and shrouded in black, they still seem just as colorful and friendly as they did before.

Dave walks up to greet you, his hands tucked away in his pockets. “Hey, everything alright?”

“Yeah, I'm fine,” you say, forcing a smile. “I'm glad you guys could come. I hoped it wasn’t too much of a journey.”

“Anything for a friend,” he assures you, his voice sincere. He offers an awkward side-hug and pat on the back.

“John, Rose, I can’t believe we finally get to meet you in person!” Jade leans in to hug you, and you almost fall back. For such a petite girl, she sure is strong. “I know this probably isn't the best time or place for a friendly gathering, but I was really looking forward to seeing you guys.”

“Jade, your dress is lovely,” Rose comments, reaching out to feel the twinkling black tulle of her garment. “Did you make this?”

“Yes, I did!” She gives a little twirl, showcasing how the light caught on the fabric. “I didn't really have anything in my closet that wasn’t bright, so I had to improvise.”

“It is really pretty,” you agree. Seeing them all like this makes you feel underdressed in your white button down and tie your father gave you last Christmas. Rose and Jade are wearing beautiful black dresses, and even Dave is out of his usual cool kid attire. “You guys all look so nice.”

_“_ I just barely managed to cough up enough change to buy a suit for this thing,” Dave says, gesturing at his outfit. “I couldn't afford shoes, but I feel like the ol’ Chucks keeps it fresh.” He lifts up his pant leg to show off his black converse. He’s right; they do give the look some personality.

“You didn't have to dress up, Dave,” you tell him. He seems uncomfortable in the stiff collar and jacket.

“I think it would be weird if I showed up in a t-shirt and jeans, not to mention disrespectful.”

“I hate to interrupt,” Roxanne buts in, “but I think it’s time to sit down now.”

You oblige, taking your seat. Your friends are next to you in the front row, along with Roxanne and a couple of your Dad’s other close friends. A man walks up to the podium next to the open casket. You can see the bridge of your father’s nose and the toes of his black shoes from where you sit.

“We are gathered here today in memory of Mr. James Egbert, a hardworking man, and loving father…”

The beginning of the ceremony is a blur, and you feel for the eulogy you wrote in your pocket, reading it over. It took weeks to perfect and you still don't think it can do your dad justice, but he would tell you it’s the thought that counts, and he would be proud of you for standing up there anyway. The note he gave you is still sealed and heavy in your hands. You’ve refrained from opening it until now, so it would be special.

“...his son, John Egbert, has prepared a few words in his honour,” you hear the man say, and you know it’s time. You rise, your knees shaking and hands clammy.

You make your way forward, looking down at your feet. You stop at the casket, gazing down at your deceased father. He looks as sharp as ever in his suit and tie. It reminds you of when he used to go to meetings out of town. When he came home, he would hang up his hat and coat, and leave his shoes is by the door.

You remember trying on your dad's jacket and shoes when you were younger. You would waddle into the kitchen and he would smile, jokingly asking you where you got your sense of style. Everything was way too big, but he insisted you looked very handsome. The memory is one you hope you’ll always keep.

When you make it to the podium, the man from before gives you a reassuring smile and lowers the microphone for you.

“Take your time,” he whispers as you straighten out the wrinkled loose leaf covered in your writing.

You take a breath, and silently read over the first few lines. It's no good. You decide to just wing it instead, folding the paper back up and setting it aside.

“My dad was possibly the best dad a kid could ask for,” you begin, scanning the crowd to find familiar faces. You see people from your old town, solemnly looking up at the son that James Egbert always bragged about. “For as long as I can remember, he’s been teaching me new things every day. He taught me to read and write, how to ride a bike, to play the piano, and he shared all of his baking secrets. He taught me almost everything I know.

“He would always tell me how proud of me he was, and I thought nothing of it,” you say. “I thought it was just the Dad thing to do, telling your kids you're proud of them.” You pause, wishing you had thanked him. “Those words never meant much to me until now.” You look back at the floor, fiddling with your thumbs. You hope you don’t mess this up.

“Before he died, my dad gave me a letter.” You reach into your pocket for the envelope. You can still see his smudged writing on the front. “I never wanted to open it because I thought that it was all I had left...and I didn't want to waste it.” You tear open the envelope for the first time, your hands shaking.

_“Dear John,”_ you read. _“If you are reading this, it means that I have died. I can only pray that you didn't have to witness it. I know you will have many questions, and I can't answer all of them, but I hope this helps._

_“There are many things that I was forced to keep from you for your own sake. I may not have looked like anything more than a regular businessman to you, but I chose a very dangerous line of work. If you had gotten ahold of the information I handled in my job, you too may have been killed.” You hear a few gasps from the crowd. “I would never be able to forgive myself if I let anything happen to you._

_“I've done everything in my power to protect you, to give you a good life despite the dangers of mine. There were a few close calls, but you made it this far, and that is all that matters._

_“I have made arrangements for you to be taken in by Ms. Lalonde. She and I were very close friends, and I promise she’ll take care of you. I'm sure you and her daughter will get along.”_ You look up at Rose send her mother, _your mother_.

_“Son, though you may feel lost and alone, I hope you find your way through these hardships. You've always been strong, even through rough times._ ” You pause to wipe a tear from your eye, taking a moment to calm down. You won’t let yourself cry—not now. “ _I believe you can rise above this, and I hope that someday you will have a son of your own and pass on your great perseverance to him._

_“I know I tell you this everyday, but I just want you to know._

_“I'm so proud of you.”_ Your voice breaks, and there is nothing you can do to stop the tears from streaming down your cheeks. You cover your face with your hands, trembling.

You look up and see the empathy on your friends’ faces. Rose bows her head, her bangs casting a shadow over her eyes. Jade is sniffling, her eyes red and puffy. A pack of tissues sits in her lap. Dave averts his gaze to the floor. Behind his shades, you can see his calm and collected facade fading away.

“If you're listening, Dad,” you manage to choke out, “I love you, and I miss you so much, but I'm trying to be strong like you told me to. I know that's what you would've wanted.”

You watch as your tears stain and smear the ink of the letter. You quietly fold it back up into the envelope and wipe your eyes, trying to collect yourself. You can't believe you broke down in front of all these people.

You feel a hand on your shoulder and lift your head to see Dave at your side. “C’mon, it’s okay,” he whispers as he helps you down from the stand. “Need a little fresh air?” Dave offers, and you give a weak nod. He leads you outside into the warm summer air. “Look, I never told you this, but I've been in your place before. I know what it's like to lose someone so close.”

“Really?” You look up at him. Beyond your own reflection, you see the dejected expression in his eyes behind his dim shades.

“Yeah, and let me tell you, for the first month or so, it sucks. It feels like the end of the world, and you don't know what to do, but then things start to look up, and you find people to help you through it.” He looks over to the door where Rose and Jade are likely waiting. “I know it's sad, but you just gotta keep your head up, man. If you can do that, you can do just about anything.”

Dave stiffens as you wrap your arms around him, burning your face in his shoulder. He lays a hesitant hand on your back, comforting you.

“We should probably get back,” he says, and you pull away. “You wouldn't want to miss this montage of awkward hugs from family and friends you didn't even know existed.”

“Yeah,” you sigh, dreading the attention.

You feel all eyes on you as you sit back down, red in the face with tear-stained cheeks.

“John, that eulogy was beautiful,” Rose tells you. “I'm sure your father would be very proud.”

Jade offers you a handful of tissues as the service moves on. You thank her quietly before wiping your eyes and blowing your nose.

_“_ Man, you almost made _me_ cry _,”_ you hear Dave mumble under his breath. “And you know Striders don’t cry. We just don't. It's against our Bro Code: thou shall not cry like a teenage girl at the premiere of _The Notebook_ when in the presence of others. Even sulking in the privacy of my own room is disgraceful.”

There he goes again. You manage a snicker between sad sniffles.

You're grateful that your friends care for you so much. You don't know where you'd be without them.

You wish your dad was here to meet them, but you know he's watching and he's proud.

He's always been proud.


End file.
